For northernveil: "Chris/JC, ritualized bondage sex magic."

Seven knots in the first part of the cord, the one that stretches from around the neck to just between the legs. Seven in the second, the one that slips between the legs and slides between the clefts of the ass, pulling up and looping back through the neck-tie. Three along the span from spine to chest, each time that the two halves of the cord are separated, each time that your partner is trussed up more securely. Five around the upper thigh, wrapping the legs together; seven and five and seven again, knees and ankles, before the rope loops around itself again and is fastened off around the wrists, tightly enough to secure him so that he could not move a muscle, not so tightly as to deprive of circulation.

Chris was humming as he went, just five or six notes over and over again, wordless and sweet and oddly harmonic. It built in JC's ears, the way that ocean waves crash in and then retreat, and by the time that the last of the knots were tied it had built into a chord, a chorus. He was open and ready and dizzy and shaking with the sense of it, the need of it, the way that it set him up and yanked him free and loose and sideways. His eyes were closed but he could see Chris anyway, all whites and golds and reds, shimmering and shivering behind his eyelids and waiting there just to hold on to him.

Chris stood before him when the last knot had been tied and held the palm of his hand just in front of JC's forehead. "Are you ready?" he broke off the song long enough to ask.

"Yes," JC whispered.

"Then go," Chris said, and tapped him once, sharply, just between the eyes. JC stepped free to fly.

. : | back | : .